


Time for our little talks

by sarcat



Category: Morning Glories
Genre: F/M, pretty much just lots of sad and cute things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcat/pseuds/sarcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble collection. Broken people in a broken place, and they need each other more than they are willing to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time for our little talks

**Author's Note:**

> This is a round up of what I've written so far for Gwen's [Morning Glories Fic-a-thon](http://kidiots.livejournal.com/25057.html), and possibly more random drabbles I decide to write in the future.

**pâro  
** _(Hunter/Casey)_

She's blank. There's nothing staring back at her, no reflection, or life. A drop falls from the ceiling, hitting the same exact spot she's kept her eyes on for hours, days. Nothing moves her. _Drip, drip, drip._  And she's sure there are ripples radiating to the edges and that if there was enough light in here she could see dim blonde tresses, frayed and whipped and imperfect. But most importantly she could see how bad it really is, whether her skin has peeled away so much that there would be no guarantee that she would ever see the dewiness of her unblemished cheeks.   
  
With this much darkness she can't even find it in herself to really guarantee that she'll see anything or anyone anymore.  
  
She groans, long and loud, and that ripples too along the walls. It's something she's had to convince herself to do every so often. She needs the benefit of the sound in this loneliness.   
  
Most of her nails are gone. She knows that much, scraped and jagged. There's probably blood. It feels like their should be blood since her fingertips were once warm and slick before going so cold, the pads of her fingers not sliding clean against each other anymore.   
  
 _Sorry, mom. Sorry, dad._  Her thoughts aren't really hers, they belong to the walls that keep her imprisoned.  _Sorry, Jade._  Her mind goes quiet much like her eyes have in this dreary place, and her head dips forward until the tips of her hairs dip into the dirty puddle of something collecting on the floor.  _Please be water_.   
  
She drags her head along the floor, forehead scraping, swerving along stone cold floors.   
  
Plans never worked out. She had learned that much in the first week of arriving at the academy, bright eyed and desperate for her own story to start on her terms. Her terms are locked away somewhere in the file of records they keep where she'd happily signed her compliance.   
  
And yes, it was a mistake. Everything she's done is a mistake. Everything she will do will be a mistake. Planning does little. It only delays something that she knows will take them all. Family, friends, feelings.  _You look really pretty today_. It still feels warm in her mind, bubbly and ignorant. Hunter never cared about being mindless. He only cared about her. It's the only thing that gets a bitter smile to emerge.   
  
"Wonder if he'd still think that now..." It comes out warped and not her own. That's not her voice. It can't be. It sounds so brittle now.   
  
But that's her life. This was the endgame from the start. And telling him to walk away forever seemed right, better to do then string him along with her. Getting to that level of entanglement with him would only make things worse. Right? Right. No, she's right. She was only doing him a favor because he could be here with her right now. And that wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be right to have some anchor like him in this madness. It wouldn't be right to force her name from his mouth to make sure she still knew exactly who she was or tuck her head underneath his chin and rest against his broken collar bone. That was borderline desperate, and she was stronger than that.   
  
"Casey?" Like every time before.   
  
Her mind goes blank.

* * *

  
**I don't like walking around this old and empty house**   
_(Guillaume/Hisao)_

"Fight me for it, then."  
  
"No," he gasps, "No," he arcs.   
  
Guillaume's skin is so close. All of him is so close that he can feel the laugh shake from his lips and he swallows enough of it that it's pushing goosebumps onto his flesh, prickling on his bare skin. But it's been forever since he's felt him smashed up against his mouth, inexperienced and rough enough to bruise without intention. Guillaume drums up his arm with purpose, and it's the first time he'll allow Hisao enough room to actually breathe without having to be told.   
  
"Come on, Hisao. Come on. You're going to be like that when I need you? You're going to tell me no?" His eyes are low, serene, "I don't believe you for a second."  
  
Hisao pulls on his own silence until his eyes find something sure and clear staring back down at him. It's sure. He rolls up onto his elbows, and it's enough to get Guillaume's dusty straw colored hair to sway in just a way that it turns him on more than the groping or his lost gulps of air when Guillaume sucked at the hallow of his neck.   
  
"No one's going to stop us? You won't go away again?" Hisao asks earnestly.   
  
Hisao only does one thing, thumbing his hip bone urgently. He shrugs a shoulder, but Hisao knows it's not careless because Guillaume cares the most. "Only if you tell me to."  
  
Hisao grabs the back of Guillaume's neck and pulls him down to meet skin on skin again, to tangle his fingers with his and fight back strangled noises of release that they'd both missed too much of apart.   
  
"No, no, stay."

* * *

  
**there's no line between you and i**  
 _(Akiko/Ian)_  
  
"Ian! You idiot! You can't just come in here! What!? NO, YOU CAN'T JUST TOUCH THAT! Ian! Ian! Does your brain stop functioning after nine? Iaaannnn. It's almost curfew. Why are you so...hold on...is that an issue of X-men I haven't seen before?"  
  
He isn't graceful on purpose. He almost trips twice on 'girlie' things, and heaves an 'Oh, Christ' at least once when he picks up and tosses something he doesn't recognize, or chooses not to recognize. And even after all the berating from Akiko and narrow misses of death trying to make it across the room (girls are messy), he's standing just a little below from where she's raised up on her bunk bed, fixed with a halo of fluorescent light.   
  
She's long since thrown her covers off, sitting on her knees and peering over the edge of her bed directly at him. Okay, he won't kid himself, she's looking at the comic. Regardless it makes him feel infinitely better than most things that are highly regarded by Akiko (tan skin, muscles, making fun of him and comics).   
  
"Is it?" she asks again, and her hair slips past her ears. She's regal again as ever with nothing but a smile, baggy shorts, and a pastel yellow shirt with the words,  _let the sunshine in_ , in dull orange letters. "Ian!"  
  
"Where is everyone?" he finally lets out when he can think straight enough, warm fingers sticking to the plastic.   
  
"You know, Irina. She's being herself. Vanessa...I don't know. She had goo goo eyes before she left and kept asking me if her shirt looked nice. And our crazy RA doesn't really get back here until just before curfew starts. Now will you tell me if that is a new comic already instead of avoiding my questions because I'm this close to whacking you over the head. Mind you, I am in range," she finishes smartly.   
  
Ian winces internally on the words alone, but his face carries this sense of victory on it as he goes around to kick off his Converse. Akiko is already saying no, but with a practiced step on the bottom frame of the bed below, he's heaved himself up to her level.   
  
She punches his shoulder automatically when he gets to her, but she doesn't tell him to leave either. It's almost become this weird expected greeting and not so much of the dull throbbing pain it masks itself to be.   
  
"I haven't read it yet either." Liar. He's read it seven times, but she doesn't need to know that.   
  
"Good, then you won't spoil it for me this time."  
  
"That was only once and I said I was sorry!"  
  
She blows him a look that steals his heart (most of her looks do). "Try three times plus an annual issue that would have been so much better if I didn't know that--"  
  
"Okay! Fine. Point taken. Can we just get to the comic reading, or you know...I can just go. Maybe Fortunato will appreciate this issue mor--"  
  
"No one appreciates Jubilee as much as I do, Ian. I just want that point to be clear," she says just as she grabs him by the collar of his vest to yank him down flat on his stomach beside her.   
  
It's suddenly a million degrees too hot and their elbows are touching. (Pretty ladies do that to him. Pretty ladies being the synonym for Akiko.) Thankfully she keeps the sheets off this time to frantically kick her feet in excitement as she peels back the plastic. He won't swelter to death, which is always a plus, but he stops thinking about the warmth and soft skin just as soon as she flips the first page and jumps into the world she is reading about.   
  
He doesn't bother to read the dialogue, just uses the time to sneak a few glances at her wistfully while she fails to notice. She's glued to the issue, eyes not prying themselves from the issue until she's read the very last word, and all the while she's strangled by this excitement he knows all too well. And it gets much worse for him because it's almost too much when she's pressed into his side, flipping back to a part she's eager to discuss with him, shoulders touching. And she carries on like usual, dimpling and coming up with crazy theories and caring about what he thinks.   
  
He does eventually remember to breathe. Passing out would probably deduct any good points he has with her right now.

* * *

  
**the one where they're caught in the cold**  
 _(Hunter/Casey)_  
  
"I don't know. I see it a lot. Too much sometimes." It doesn't stop him from sticking out his tongue to catch any of the snow falling from the sky.   
  
Casey's bundled in a parka, the fuzzy hood covering most of her eyes and only leaving her nose exposed and pink and stinging. He watches her cave in on herself, bringing herself in closer to her knees as the wind blows a few sparks out of the fire that's slowly dying. It's too cold to really move and gather anymore wood, but he thinks about going twice when he sees her bring knitted gloved hands to her face just to breathe any warmth that might remain onto her fingertips.  
  
They've been like this for just two hours, legs sore from running, throats dry from the cold. The academy is cruel.   
  
"Aren't you used to this weather though?" His neck strains to the left, and the movement brings a draft straight into his parka by the neck. It dribbles past his thermal and settles unpleasantly just above his belly button.   
  
"Just because I'm used to it doesn't make me happy to be caught in it." The last bit of it comes out bitterly through chattering teeth. "You're sure that this Andres guy is going to come through for us?"  
  
He nods his head so furiously that he knocks the dusting of snow that's gathered from the top of his hood and onto his knees. "Trust me. Just trust me."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of doing."  
  
He swallows down the dryness stuck heavy in his throat, and knots his fingers together as he leans down onto his knees.   
  
"Hunter, sorry. Sorry." But she offers no explanation as she scoots closer to the embers still bright, still burning through the ash. Her face relaxes, hands hovering over steamed wood that makes the forest smell like a hearty Christmas by the fire with his mom.  
  
Too soon. That thought comes too soon and he forgets to be offended or angry or sad or breathless. He just has to talk and clear his mind and do something that isn't thinking of her and the numbness it brings.  
  
"Let me ask you something!" he hurries. She's perfectly still, doesn't turn her head or make a noise to acknowledge him, but he goes. He's always going, going, going because sometimes it sucks really bad to stop.   
  
He licks his lips and ignores how cold his butt is getting. "What's so bad about the winter? It's not all bad, you know?"  
  
She finally sticks her hands between her armpits, the embers quenched, the warmth evaporating and mingling with the drift of snow that hits her straight in the face.   
  
"Not bad? Are you serious right now, Hunter? Because it's pretty bad if you haven't noticed. And it's cold. And I was born in May. I was born to see flowers and drink in sunshine and not be cold. And these stupid gloves are too big. They were always too big, but they were from my dad." It's the anger talking, it's the cold, it's the frostbite and the long waiting. He's got a million excuses for her if she needs to borrow them.   
  
He gets up.   
  
It's hard and he's stiff from being in one position for way too long, but he trudges over to her ugly and small. He's everything that she probably hates. It's funny that way. He holds that thought in his head as he pulls off his glove, standing by her side comfortably. His arm crosses hers, and he drops his hand closer to her gloved one. He doesn't hesitate when he dips his hand into her glove and is met with eager fingers that grip his mercilessly. And he's imagining that she's saying sorry and maybe trusting him a little more than she used to.   
  
Hunter's lips turn up hopeful, chasing the demons still lingering in his thoughts.   
  
"It can't be summer all the time, you know? How boring would that be?"

* * *

**i can see a lot of life in you**  
 _(Hunter/Casey)_  
  
He's pushing and it gets a sour look in return, lots of confusion and whatever, he's in a rush. How he gets her there is not the important part. The important part is that he's managed to convince her to actually listen to him, to do something longer than a hi and a goodbye. That's pretty grand. His heart has been leaping since, and it's enough to spring him into action.   
  
There's no Pamela or Jade when he closes the door behind him with one hand, but as soon as he does, the small wrist cradled firmly in the other rips itself free. Casey's brows are crossed, but somehow she's still beautiful. Old feelings die hard. So do those habits, a smile creeping itself, inch by inch up his face.   
  
"Hi," he affirms again. (Have to keep the conversation going, right?)  
  
Her arms are crossed, and skyward eyes give him the sharpest look. If looks could kill, Casey would be wanted in 12 counties. She's been a little different and distant since the Woodrun, but he thinks they've all bee--  
  
"Hunter you can't just steal people!" The words are rushed, but they break his train of thought quickly.   
  
His hand is up immediately, soothing the skin behind the back of his neck with measured accuracy. "I know, Casey."  
  
The part of his checklist regarding what he'd do as soon as he got her here to her room is kind of turning into this garbled mess of mush in his brain. The smoothness of this transaction is going downhill fast, and her toe tapping impatience is not making him feel any less queasy.   
  
He drops his hand from his neck, patting wildly at his pockets until he produces a CD. He tries desperately to cover the bold black letters reading  _Hunter's Mix_  with his thumb just as soon as Casey's anger melts into confusion.   
  
"What's that?" she asks, throwing her chin forward towards the CD in his hand.   
  
"OH, uh, this. Yeah, this thing," he answers back nervously, and he has to keep his free hand preoccupied somehow to keep it from shaking, so he throws it through one of the belt loops in his pants, "Obviously it's a CD."  
  
"Hunter, I can see that, but what's it a CD about?" But almost as soon as the words come out, her eyes grow wide with something like hope. He's never seen that look before, but it looks nice on her. "Is that? Does that have...something about this place on it. Anything? Some secret file?"   
  
Her tone is so intimate, just for him, that his hands start sweating pretty bad. _Fuck_. Somehow he's managed to screw this up too.   
  
"Wait, no. That's not it at all!" he rifles back, "I-I just needed you to hear this song. It's a mixed CD, Casey, not some plot against the academy."  
  
He looks for a reaction out of her and he gets it. It's disappointed. So disappointed that he considers hiding under her desk because his face just might be as bright and loudly red as his hair right now. 

"Oh...well, I don't know what I'd do with that then," she says slowly, head turning away.   
  
"Wait, hold on. This is good. I really think you should hear this." He takes a step forward, so sure of himself for once in his life. "I'm not trying to waste your time..."  
  
She's listening, he can tell. He's grateful for that.  _Please, keep listening_. "I just want you to smile at me like you used to, at anyone really. I just want you to be happy. Casey, you've just been so go-go-go and robotic lately--"  
  
Casey bounds forward offended, wounded, "This place--"  
  
"Has four walls just like any other, and it's not worth losing yourself for them!"   
  
Her shoulders slump and he almost drops the CD just to touch her.   
  
"CDs are a bit dated, don't you think?" she asks after too long, way too long.   
  
He perks up instantly, ignoring the warmth still refusing to leave his cheeks. "Yeah, but my phone got smashed and I kept a lot of songs on there. This is the next best thing."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry to say, but I didn't exactly bring a CD player to this place." She rolls her shoulders back before gathering her hair in both hands for a second just to let it fall back to her shoulders, and it's the first rare sighting of her in days that he's seen and wanted to gawk at for hours.   
  
He slaps a hand to his forehead a second later when her words finally hit him full force, letting it drag down to pull at his face in defeat. "I can't believe how stupid I am."  
  
She let's out a small laugh that he'll happily devour the details of when he's not feeling like this much of a failure later, ever.   
  
"You aren't. It's all sweet and thoughtful," she shakes her head once on either side, eyes closed, "But you always are."  
  
There's a silence that ends with a brief sigh on her part, and the familiar sound of polished Oxford's clicking on the floor. She settles in front of him, hugging her arms tight. "Honestly, don't worry about it. I'm sure the song was gre--"  
  
"I can see a lot of life in you," he starts suddenly, and it's not strong as it leaves his mouth like an unpracticed melody.   
  
It's not perfect, and he wavers, rocking from one foot to the other in the song's exact rhythm. He gets stronger with each word that follows in his flow. It's honest. It flutters openly in his chest before it burns his throat alive to come out sweetly.  
  
"I can see a lot of bright in you..."  
  
And she doesn't stop him once. She's too frozen to do a damn thing to stop him.  _Does she want to stop him?_  He goes on, and reaches and bends without thinking as the tune carries all the way through with her hand back in his by the end and a thank you heavy on her smiling face.


End file.
